The Ritual of Tea
by Measi
Summary: Sometimes one must go through familiar actions to find deeper meaning.


Title: The Ritual of Tea  
Pairing: Ten/Rose  
Rating: PG  
Written For: **elioclya (LJ)**  
Prompts: "Anything with tea - tea is good." and "Chrall, 16th Century"  
Author's Notes: This piece is combining two ficathons - the first ficathon on **timexspace** and the _Anywhere but Cardiff_ ficathon on **timeandchips**.

"I'm dying for some good, old-fashioned locus tea," the Doctor muttered as he plunked down on the control room jump seat, kicking his legs out onto the edge of the console.

He'd just spent four hours repairing the latest massive electrical issue in the substructure of the TARDIS console, and every muscle in his body ached. He rolled his shoulders, groaning at the audible pops he heard as tendons and ligaments adjusted into their proper positions. Looking down at the state of his clothes, he was thankful he'd decided against his normal suit during this round of repairs. Instead, he'd replaced his pinstripes with a grey grease monkey jumpsuit he'd dredged up from the TARDIS wardrobe that now was nearly black due to the grease and dust beneath the console room's floor grates. The ratty navy blue Chucks he'd pulled from the wardrobe hadn't escaped unscathed either, coated quite liberally with smears of black engine grease.

"Locust tea?" Rose replied slowly in response, fighting her face's natural urge to make a disgusted expression. She handed him a damp cloth and backed away to avoid attracting any of the black goop to her clothes.

"No, no. Lo-cus," he corrected, his voice muffled behind the damp towel as he wiped his face. "Although I have been to Veridan Seven – they use locusts to flavour their tea. Quite an acquired taste, I think. Locus tea, though, is just delightful – it's from a fragrant herb that used to grow wild around the Academy. Everything smelled delicious in the springtime when it bloomed. Fantastic in soothing the nerves – I used it religiously before exams. Add a bit of Earth lemon, smidge of sugar, and oh, heavenly," he leaned back, smiling up at the ceiling as he recalled the memory before turning his head.

"Sounds wonderful."

"I miss it, like so many other things from home – never quite realized it until they were gone." He fell silent for a moment as he focused on wiping the grease from his fingers, frowning at the result. "Bugger. Not happening this way. Best get in the shower." He headed off down the corridor, tossing the towel into a bin that appeared on the corridor wall.

"Want some proper British tea in the meantime, Doctor?" Rose called after him.

"Sounds lovely. See you in a few."

Rose's smile faded as she watched him turn the corner. It was rare that he opened up about home, and the little tidbits he shared took her by surprise. Since their visit to the alternative Earth and Mickey's unexpected departure from the TARDIS, he'd started mentioning home more often. She'd only recently learned that his home planet was called Gallifrey. _Gallifrey…_The word rolled off her tongue naturally now – she'd been silently repeating it since he'd told her, as if it were a secret treasure that he'd revealed by mistake.

Perhaps he had.

Mickey's decision to stay in the alternate London – Pete's World, the Doctor had coined it – had changed the relationship between the Doctor and herself. There was a somber air beneath the joy of new planet discovery now – an unspoken wound that refused to heal. Every once in a while, she'd catch his gaze across the console room, looking at her with a mixture of worry and desire – as if he really had something he wanted to tell her, but feared what would happen if he dared. During those moments, she'd give him a small, tight smile, and then he'd look away quickly.

They never spoke about the thoughts that seemed to be churning through his mind.

On the other hand, they spoke a lot about what was on her mind, usually at the kitchen table in the TARDIS, the officially designated Comfy Spot for all manner of conversations. Questions about the cultures they visited, reflections on her life back home – the Doctor always had time and a kettle waiting for her when she needed to talk.

She sighed, padding into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Instinctively, she returned to the console room, finding his favorite mug hidden next to one of the support legs of the jump seat where he always placed it while working on the TARDIS. She washed it, placed it in the drying rack, and sat down on one of the ornate but battered wooden chairs, waiting for whichever arrived first – the boiling water or the Doctor.

Twenty minutes later, freshly showered with damp hair spiking every which way, the Doctor entered the kitchen to find Rose sitting serenely at the kitchen table with her eyes closed. She curled her hands gently around her favorite blue mug. Soft wisps of steam curled lazily, their pathways into the air broken only by her breath.

He paused in the doorway to observe her for just a moment, musing about her now familiar ritual for drinking tea. Rose had subconsciously created a daily routine since her travels on the TARDIS had begun. It was clearly a female Tyler family trait – the Doctor had noticed during their extended downtime at Christmas that Jackie couldn't sleep without her final cup of the day, stretched on the sofa as she watched the evening BBC soap operas. Rose tended to lean toward an unwinding cup as well, normally after a shower to clean off the grime of the latest adventure. The tea was always the same – dash of milk and a spoon and a half of sugar. The chair she selected at the kitchen table was always the same as well.

Oddly, so was his. All routine, all the same.

How very human.

"You alright, Doctor?" Rose's voice broke him of his meandering thoughts.

"Hmm?" he blinked. "Yes, sorry. Just thinking about the routine of tea." He grabbed his mug from the drying rack, shook the last remaining droplets from it, and poured hot water from the kettle.

Rose smiled up at him. "It is comforting."

"Quite," he agreed absently as he rummaged through the cabinet. Where's the sugar?"

"On the table, as always."

"Ah, yes." He took his place at the table, adding several spoonfuls of sugar to his large blue mug. Rose winced just imagining how it might taste. But then again, the sugar content did explain his hyper behavior…

"Anyway, perhaps that's what we should do, Rose. Go to a place that has made their economy on the art of traditions and routine. Proper high tea, as high and fine as you'd like."

Rose laughed. "There's a place that has an economy built on serving high tea?"

"There's a world for everything, Rose. And Chrall is just the place for the perfect cuppa. Besides, we're due for some relaxation time, aren't we?" he asked, swigging down a big gulp of his drink. "And there's shopping. Lots of great shopping, especially in the 16th century – oh, they had fabulous little shops then. You'd love it. And besides, I could use a trip to a good shop."

"Maybe you'll even find some of that locus tea," she offered.

The Doctor visibly brightened. "Oh yes, I imagine I will!"

&&&

On the surface, the marketplace of Chrall's capital city appeared like all of the other transportation hub cities Rose had seen in her travels with the Doctor. The streets were crowded with a mish-mash of cart vendors, behind which the more expensive, established stores were located in permanent structures. At any one time, she heard a half-dozen languages, all conveniently translated by the TARDIS. Exotic spicy smells mixed with earthy ones and pungent ones into a nearly overpowering haze.

She picked up a couple of small eye-catching trinkets along the way, intending to give them to her mum next time they went home. The Doctor marveled at strangely decorated pottery and electronic gizmos he found along the way, prattling on so quickly about where they came from that the words just evaporated from Rose's brain as quickly as she heard the words. As much as he could drive her mad, she could see him finding joy and discovery in everything they saw, and it was infectious.

"So, where would you recommend we go for a true Chrallian sit-down tea?" the Doctor a young woman working at a catch-all kitsch cart. He'd picked up a silver container that resembled an airtight kitchen storage canister and was turning it slowly, observing the etched decoration.

The woman smiled gently. "It depends on which experience you desire, sir. The traditional one that most tourists want, or the houses that most of us visit."

"Oh, definitely the latter," the Doctor replied. "Rule number one of travel – go to where the locals go for the real thing."

"Indeed, sir. Then you will want to go to the plaza down at the end of this alley," she replied, gesturing to a large sandstone wall to her left. "At the doorway, ask for Marresh."

The Doctor thanked her, purchasing the silver pot out of courtesy, and led Rose down the alleyway.

"Funny how everywhere you travel, there's always the tourist spot and the local spot," Rose remarked.

"And normally a very large difference between the two," the Doctor replied, spinning the container in his hands. "Come on."

&&&

Rose was further amused at the similarities between home and here when she discovered the tea house had no name – so typical, the local hole-in-the wall (in this case, literally) that everyone went to. Some eventually did get named, often by an agreed upon nickname that had developed over time. Rose wondered what nicknames this place might have.

As instructed, the Doctor asked for Marresh at the stone arch. A middle-aged statuesque woman appeared, her waist-length chestnut brown hair and russet silk dress swinging gently as she moved. She welcomed them, bowing slightly. The Doctor imitated the movement, and without needing prompting, Rose did the same. The woman appeared pleased by the gesture, and motioned for them to enter the arch.

Marresh led them down a narrow alleyway that emerged into a cloistered garden. In the sunlit center, beautiful flowers and shrubs grew in carefully tended patterns, their textures and colors providing a pleasing contrast to the stonework of the arched walkway that surrounded it. Beneath the shade of the cloisters, patrons relaxed upon pillowed lounge chairs, chatting quietly in small-tabled groups, their voices barely audible over the sounds of water coming from both the pool in the garden and the cloisters themselves – at each table, an intricate kettle contraption bubbled and steamed with the smells of blends of different spices.

Rose breathed in deeply, allowing the scents to sink into her lungs. It was an outrageous mix of scents, but thankfully was kept from becoming overwhelming by the open air of the garden.

"I have the table over in that corner available, should it please you," Marresh offered, gesturing toward the far corner.

"Perfect, thanks," Rose replied. She glanced up at the Doctor, who smiled and nodded in agreement.

Once they were seated, Marresh bowed and left, leaving the two of them alone. Rose frowned at the empty table. "Shouldn't we get a list of the teas available?"

The Doctor shook his head. "I believe this is an older-style tea house. No menus necessary. We'll be given the perfect tea."

"They serve one type of tea?"

"Yep," he replied cheerily, stretching his arms out and relaxing back into the chair. "Chrallian Deep tea, I imagine. I've never tried it. Heard stories, though. This should be fun."

"So what have you heard about it?"

"Well," he said, instantly jumping into one of his too-much-information trains of thought. "It's supposed to taste different to each person who drinks it. Which I suppose isn't that surprising because everything tastes a bit different to each person, doesn't it? Which is odd, because you'd think the universe would have mastered the concept of uniform taste buds. But no species I've encountered can describe tastes the same. Even of bananas. And I can't understand why some people don't like the taste of bananas…" He spoke too fast and continued down segway after segway, but Rose said nothing and just smiled. He enjoyed these verbal thought ramblings, and she hadn't seen him so completely relaxed in quite a while.

A fair-skinned, bald woman interrupted his chatter as she quietly placed a kettle that resembled all of the others at their table. She then placed two delicate blue glasses on the table and a small tray of tea dressings. She smiled shyly, bowed, and silently moved away.

The Doctor beamed and pushed himself forward toward the kettle. "Brilliant design," he said, admiring its surface. "It's a never-cooling kettle. You see them on several planets, but the design of this one is just fantastic – much more beautiful than the others I've seen." He looked at Rose. "Shall I pour you a cup?"

"Please," she replied, leaning back into the chair.

He picked up a long, narrow tube that ended in a delicate brass nozzle, and aimed it toward the glass. Then he pressed a hidden button indicated only by the absence of intricate engraving on the side of the kettle, and a slow, steady stream of tea poured into the glass, stopping automatically when the glass was three-quarters full.

"Try this before you add anything," he said, handing her the glass.

Rose took a sip, and her eyes widened at the explosion of tastes on her tongue. "Wow," she exclaimed. "It's like… chai. Sort of, but different. It's perfect."

The Doctor sipped his own glass, and beamed. "Locus tea."

"Is this what locus tea tastes like? All spicy?"

"No," he replied. "Locus is a gentle tea." He reached for a small covered bowl, beaming as the removed lid revealed a small stack of lemon wedges. "Like I told you, it's the perfect tea. And no two people taste the same one."

"So… it's like a mind-reading tea kettle?"

"Sort of, yeah. Need some sugar?" Rose nodded, carefully spooning the sand-colored crystals into her glass. She tested the sweetness, smiled at her success, and leaned back. "Well, I have to hand it to them. It is the perfect cuppa."

He chuckled, raising his glass to her before taking another sip, sighing softly as he closed his eyes and sank back against the pillows. "It's been far too long."

"When did you last have Locus tea?"

His smile faded. "Before the war. I shared a cup with a friend from home. Romana and I often had tea together when I was home. She found it to be a pleasant little quirk from her travels to Earth with me."

"Romana traveled with you?"

"Oh yes, for quite a while, actually. It was a bit odd having a Time Lady on board… always criticizing my décor in the TARDIS." He heard Rose's snicker, and his smile returned. "She traveled with me a short time after Sarah Jane went home. I was called back to Gallifrey, and then she came back out into the universe with me for a while."

Rose cupped her glass and stared at the liquid. "You loved her, didn't you?"

"Oh yes. She was one of the few friends – perhaps the only friend, really – that I had from home who respected me for who I was. A bit too rebellious for the Time Lords, me. Romana accepted me, even though I infuriated her most of the time."

"Can't imagine how you'd do that," she mused.

The Doctor hummed in amusement, his smile skewing lopsided. "Anyway, yes. It's been a long time."

"I wish I could have seen it." Rose stared straight ahead as she swigged another mouthful of tea. "Gallifrey, I mean. I wish I could see where you came from. You know so much about me, but I still barely know anything about you."

His smile grew thin and sad. Instinctively, he reached out to grab her hand, interlocking his fingers with hers and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. He did not reply, knowing that there were no words that would convince her that she knew more than nearly everyone he'd traveled with. She knew him as he lived now, and that was what was important. With Gallifrey gone, his history had been erased, leaving only an invisible person still drifting through time. His own history now considered a fable, a myth. Although still talked about in rumour, Gallifrey technically had never existed. Nor had Skaro, for that matter. Yet _he_ remembered it all, and it was maddening.

He felt her hand close over his, and he looked up to discover her concerned expression.

"Doctor, what it is? What's wrong?"

He managed a wan smile. "Nothing," he said dismissively, but he could tell immediately that Rose did not believe him. He frowned, staring back at the glass in front of him for a moment, absently watching the ripples of tea in his glass that originated from the slight movement of his hand. "I'm just thinking about home. Guess it's the cup of tea that does it."

Rose's eyes deepened with warmth and compassion. "Talk to me. Tell me about home."

The Doctor took a final gulp to empty his glass, poured himself another, and slowly began to talk. He spoke of the mountains, of the domed citadel, of his years at the academy. The words poured out of him as if a river finally released from behind a dam. Through it all, she sits and listens, moving only to pour them more tea and return her hand to his, encouraging him to continue.

As the day moved on, the shadows in the garden grew. Small lanterns were added to the arches to provide light for the late patrons. The wait staff came to the table occasionally to refill the kettle silently before scurrying away to leave the Doctor and Rose alone as the pair drifted through conversations – his memories, her memories.

For once, the Time Lord lost track of time. He didn't care at all.

&&&

Hours later, long after the sun had set and the last of the teahouse patrons had left the cloister, the Doctor and Rose made their way through the still busy marketplace streets, holding hands. Both carried an individual tissue-wrapped package – individualized blends of each of their personalized tea - from Marresh, given to each of them with farewell wishes of peace and happiness.

The Doctor remarked to himself as they walked that he did, in fact, feel peaceful and happy. Much more so than he had in years, in fact. He glanced down at Rose and noted that her smile was broader than normal, her steps lighter and bouncier. He hummed contentedly, swinging her arm gently as the TARDIS came into view.

He'd have to bring her again sometime, under the guise of buying more Locus tea – couldn't let on that he needed to talk, being a Time Lord, of course. There was decorum to respect. But somehow, he knew that she'd know the real reason, even if he wouldn't admit it.

Perhaps he'd find a way over the next cup of tea.


End file.
